


sparks in the air like the fourth of july

by notcaycepollard



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fourth of July, I was just in the mood for this I guess, mention of Andrew/May
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:19:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson doesn't know what Skye's doing, this fourth of July. He thought she'd go with the others. Maybe she's made plans with Lincoln.</p><p>He doesn't have plans. He has paperwork, and a bottle of scotch.</p><p>Then Skye comes into his office, wearing her old red dress, swinging Lola's keys around one finger. "Come on, Director," she says, frowns at his suit. "Go change and we'll get out of here."</p><p>"...Where?" Coulson asks, confused, and Skye shrugs.</p><p>"Anywhere there's public fireworks and corn dogs and funnel cake," she tells him, "figured we'd drive until we find something we like."</p>
            </blockquote>





	sparks in the air like the fourth of july

**Author's Note:**

> don't ask me, this just happened

Coulson doesn't even realize when June slides into July, he's so busy (busy with paperwork, busy with missions, busy with his own thoughts). Skye asks, though, clears her throat and says oh-so-casually in the lounge area, "so, we're getting a vacation day for the fourth, right?"

"We're pretty busy," he says skeptically, "I don't know if you've noticed but we don't really _do_ vacation days here," and Bobbi throws a kernel of popcorn at him.

"Isn't Captain America like your  _personal hero_ , sir?" she demands, and Hunter chimes in. _  
_

"Yeah, what kind of aggressively American organization are we if we don't celebrate the fourth of July?"

"You're  _English_ ," Coulson reminds him, frowning, and he shrugs.

"Guilty as charged. I just want a holiday."

"Fine," Coulson sighs, "fine, everyone gets Independence Day off as vacation. Unless there's a HYDRA thing." There's probably going to be a HYDRA thing, he thinks gloomily, because that's why they can't have nice things.

 

He doesn't expect the team to do anything as a  _team_ , but Bobbi and Hunter and Mack borrow one of the SUVs and take off the night before, dragging Jemma and Fitz in their wake ("Excuse me, I don't actually  _celebrate_  your national holiday," Jemma says politely, and Hunter just rolls his eyes, tells her to go with it). May and Andrew give each other a look that says they'll be spending the day together, and Coulson can't help but remember cook-outs in their backyard, Andrew working the grill while Melinda and Phil drank beer and shot shit with their SHIELD colleagues. Sitwell, he thinks, and Maria, and Fury, a few times. Maria's godawful deviled eggs. Nat and Barton bringing over Russian vodka and cartons of cupcakes and fireworks laced with experimental chemicals to burn brighter rainbow colors. 

The year New York happened, he'd planned to go to Portland, spend the day with Audrey. He'd even filed a request to take the day off.

Coulson doesn't know what Skye's doing, this fourth of July. He thought she'd go with the others. Maybe she's made plans with Lincoln.

He doesn't have plans. He has paperwork, and a bottle of scotch.

Then Skye comes into his office, wearing her old red dress, swinging Lola's keys around one finger. "Come on, Director," she says, frowns at his suit. "Go change and we'll get out of here."

"...Where?" Coulson asks, confused, and Skye shrugs.

"Anywhere there's public fireworks and corn dogs and funnel cake," she tells him, "figured we'd drive until we find something we like."

"Where's Lincoln?" he asks, and she wrinkles her nose. 

"Went home to Cincinnati last night. I think he got May to drop him off in a Quinjet. Come  _on_ , seriously, we're the only ones on base. I'll meet you in the garage."

Coulson changes into jeans, a chambray button-down, his old leather jacket, and when he gets down to the garage, Skye's in the driver seat, her short dress showing off her tanned thighs. She looks pleased to see him, passes him his sunglasses, and Coulson thinks, this might not be so bad.

 

Skye seems pretty happy just to drive, for a long stretch, enjoying the sun on her face and singing along unselfconsciously with their music. (Coulson argues playfully with her, over the playlist. He puts on Bill Withers. She puts on Taylor Swift. They settle on Fleetwood Mac.  _Loving you isn't the right thing to do_ , Skye belts out, glances sideways at him.  _How can I ever change things that I feel_ , and Coulson can only look at her hands on the wheel, her fingers tapping out the beat, the costume jewelry rings she likes so much.)

They wind up in some anonymous city on the Pacific coast, a few hours from base, just as the sun's getting low in the sky. "I guess we could have just gone to the beach closer to home, instead of wasting the day driving," Skye says a little uncertainly, and Coulson laughs, because the  _beach_ , seriously?

"The drive was nice," he says sincerely, and she grins.

"So," she says enthusiastically. "Fairground food?"

"Yeah," Coulson agrees, and they find a food truck, get corn dogs and cardboard cones of fries and soda, and amble along the boardwalk with the rest of the crowd waiting for the fireworks display. Kids are running around with sparklers already, even though it's barely dusk. He can smell burned sugar, and fried food, and gunpowder. It's always been a combination that smells like the perfect end of a summer day, he thinks.

 

"You know Steve Rogers' birthday is actually the fourth of July?" Coulson says, wiping his fingers and throwing away the paper napkin. Skye cracks up.

"No, seriously? He really is actual Captain America, isn't he," she laughs.

"I was so mad, when I was a kid, that my birthday was four days late," Coulson reminisces. "I could have been Captain America junior for sure, otherwise." Skye pats his arm consolingly.

"You're a pretty good hero anyway," she tells him, finishes her fries. "I guess all the best superheroes are born in July," she says teasingly, and Coulson grins before blinking.

"Wait, you-"

"July second, 1988," Skye says softly. "Best day ever. Cal and Jiaying told me all about it. There was apparently this comedy about a car."

"Oh," Coulson says. " _Oh_. But, Skye, you- you could have said. We just let your birthday go? Without celebrating?"

"I didn't feel much like celebrating, this year," Skye admits. "Happy twenty-seven, your parents are dead, you're kind of a monster." Coulson touches her shoulder, very gently, and she wipes away a tear, gives him a bright look. "Wanna buy me funnel cake anyway?" she asks, and of course, of course he does.

 

The fireworks are nothing spectacular, but even mediocre fireworks are still pretty fun, and Skye watches them with what seems like earnest joy, her mouth dropping open and her face lit up. Coulson realizes he's watching her, more than the fireworks. Whatever. They're on vacation. She has a smudge of powdered sugar on her lip that he wants to lean in and lick away.

She leans into him, instead, tucks her arm against his, shivers a little.

"Are you cold?" he asks, and she nods.

"Forgot my jacket," she says, rolling her eyes at herself. "It's like I thought the sun would just stay out." Coulson pulls off his jacket, slides it around her shoulders, and she makes a complex face, like she's swooning and observing that she's swooning and trying to hold it back all at once. "Thanks," she says quietly, lightly touches her fingers to his wrist.

"Skye," Coulson tells her as the last rocket explodes into a flower of light. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Director," she breathes, slides in a little more against him, presses her cheek against his shoulder. "Happy Independence Day."

 

When the fireworks are done, they walk slowly back to where Lola is parked. Skye buys another funnel cake, because they're a perfect food, and gets a free sparkler which she carries with great seriousness until it burns down. "Ouch!" she says, "burned me," puts her fingertips into her mouth with a frown, and Coulson has to look away. He wants to kiss her fingertips, or soothe the burn with his own tongue. They should really get back to base, he thinks.

She's still got funnel cake, though, and leans against Lola's hood to eat it.

"You want a bite?" she asks him, and he shrugs, takes the plastic fork and pulls off a bit of fried batter.

"It's good," he agrees, fights her for another bite, and they wind up sharing the rest of the cake, getting dustings of powdered sugar all over themselves. Skye wipes her mouth with her thumb, licks the sugar away, looks up at him and starts laughing.

"What," he asks, and Skye just smiles, presses her fingertips to the corner of his mouth to wipe away the sticky residue there. Coulson can't help it; his lips part, and he touches his tongue to the pad of her finger. Skye's eyes widen.

"Oh," she says, almost too quiet to hear, "that-" and then she makes eye contact, pushes her finger slowly over his bottom lip, presses into his mouth, and he sucks it in, lets her push in another. She tastes of sugar and salt, and her eyes are still very wide, pupils dilating. "Is that-" she asks, and he nods, swallows around her fingers. Skye has  _her fingers in his mouth_ , fuck, and Coulson's so turned on by it. Skye looks like she's getting there too, the way her eyes are huge, her breath loud and uneven.

Skye pulls her hand back, and he can't help it, makes a disappointed little noise which she swallows in a kiss. Her lips taste of powdered sugar too, gritty sweet. He's never liked funnel cake so much. She grabs the front of his shirt, pulls him in, and Coulson suddenly feels like this is the best teenage date, fireworks and fairground food and kissing against Lola's hood.

"So," she says, breathless and determined. "We still have like five hours of vacation time, right? You wanna go park up somewhere and make out until we're both too turned on to move?"

"Yes," Coulson manages. "Yes."

"Hey Director," she tells him between more kisses. "Happy birthday."

"It's not for four days," he protests, and she nips at his mouth.

"Do you want to wait?"

Coulson really doesn't want to wait another minute.

 

"How was your fourth of July?" Jemma asks Skye the next day. Jemma's still perfectly chirpy. "We went to Georgia and had barbeque! It was really _quite_ a lot of fun, actually." Skye laughs, and the noise makes Hunter groan. He and Bobbi and Mack and Fitz are arranged around the common area in varying stages of hungover-death. Mack and Fitz are slumped at the kitchen table, their heads in their hands. Bobbi's lying on a couch moaning. 

"She's so cheerful," Hunter tells Skye. "Why is she so cheerful. She drank more than any of us." Skye makes a sympathetic face, passes him a bottle of water. Coulson smirks.

"I said one day of vacation, not two," he says, just to see the reaction.

"Right," Bobbi mutters. "Sure. 's fine. I can't come into work today, sir, I'm dead."

"Really, though," Jemma asks again. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah," Skye tells her thoughtfully. "Coulson and I went down the coast. Fireworks and funnel cake. It was fun." She makes eye contact with Coulson, and he doesn't  _blush_ , because he's a secret agent with a whole lot of chill, but he smirks again.

Skye touches her fingers to her mouth, presses her tongue against their tips as if she's licking them clean, and  _that_ makes him blush. 


End file.
